


This Flesh is a Work in Progress

by Pakeha



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aftercare, Alien Biology, Alien/Human Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, At least 80 percent weird ass porn, Body Horror, Boy these are some tags huh, Breeding Kink, Dry Orgasm, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Hand Jobs, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mild Feminization, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, No Babies, Other, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Pain, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Service Top, Slime, Speculative xenobiology, TW: discussion of abortion, Wet & Messy, Xenophilia, but not too much horror, delivery, erotic egg laying, frenemies in love, genetic mutations, in a very sci-fi way, labor, of a sort, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pakeha/pseuds/Pakeha
Summary: The first time John lays eggs he is in the process of turning into a bug and to be frank the whole experience isn’t great for him.By the sixth time he lays eggs things still aren’t great but at least he figures he’s got a handle on the situation.  Which of course means it’s time for the Pegasus galaxy to throw a very wraith-shaped curveball his way.
Relationships: John Sheppard/Todd the Wraith
Comments: 61
Kudos: 330





	This Flesh is a Work in Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Some days it’s all like ‘hell yeah, I’ll finish the fic update I’ve been making folks wait a year for. I’m a good human.’ And other days you find yourself writing truly niche egg fetish porn for the nerd-ass sci-fi show no one watches anymore. And then you lay prone on the floor and sigh heavily.

The first time it happened John had been in the process of turning into a bug. That experience would have been traumatic enough without the addition of some goddamn _eggs_ occupying his body. 

What he remembers is this foreign, desperate _need_ making itself known through all the iratus-based soup of instinct and anger and fear. He somehow managed to find the time to seek out some out of the way nook in an unused room at the end of a lonely corridor to do _the deed._

He had curled up into a space smaller than he would’ve imagined himself fitting into, his breathing harsh and nearly silent as he rode out the mild, cramping discomfort rolling through him in waves. His eyes had remained glued to the door to the room the whole time, ears straining to pick up any sound of encroaching danger, any hapless bastard who dared to get close to his-

Truthfully he can’t really stand to think about it. 

When the mutations are (ostensibly) evicted from his genotype and the blue-gray-black of his skin has receded, he waits until he’s alone to return to the alcove he’d spent a long hour crouched in. 

Even with many of his memories of The Adventures of Bug John hazy and ill-defined, he can still unerringly track down this forgotten corner of the city.

The room smells weird when he gets there. Kind of like a wraith. Kind of like a funky gym sock. He kicks back the shelf he’d haphazardly dragged out to hide his… whatever, right after he…

For a long while he just stares at it. _Them_. They’re small, green and gray, innocuous for how disgusting they are, half-glued together with some kind of translucent, dark goo. 

John want’s be repulsed, but can’t really make it happen. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling. 

There’s a balcony to the room and John ends up scooping the… _them_ into a metal bin that seems mundaneenough and not endowed with any Atlantean tech liable to explode. 

He has a lighter on him and though it takes a few attempts to get it going eventually he manages to make them burn. Boiling and bursting, they turn black in the flames and smell like week-dead fish stewing in stagnant sea water and _now_ John is repulsed. He wrinkles his nose and stumbles back a step, gagging.

He retreats to the inside of the room and sits on the corner of a table with the neckline of his t-shirt stretched up over his nose. He watches through the open archway as the black, oily smoke puffs out of what he supposes is a fancy-ass Ancient trash can. 

When the fire has mostly burned itself out he gets up to kick the smoldering remains, bucket and all, off the balcony and into the ocean. 

He’s still feeling a little sick truth be told but he’s ready to done.

He’s ready to move on and relegate this whole fucked up chapter to a footnote in the story of his life. 

——-

The second time comes almost a full year after the first. John and a dozen others find themselves on M5J-421 for a seven day mission, checking out some abandoned wraith tech and setting up to observe something called a bi-solar eclipse which apparently is a Big Deal.

It’s unpleasantly warm and sticky on the planet, the twin suns lending plenty of heat but far enough away in their orbit that what passes for ‘day’ feels like a perpetual state of twilight. Water is abundant - the planet is 85% covered in a mildly acidic mega ocean - and the humidity is, frankly, gross. The day/night cycle is in eight parts instead of two (short day, short night, long day, short night, short day, long night, short day, and so on and so forth into insanity) and what animals inhabit this place are all erratic and decidedly unfriendly.

John can’t really blame the screeching, crimson bird-bugs as they take off through the trees. Even the giddiest of his nerds are themselves getting irritable by the third day, fighting to maintain something resembling a circadian rhythm amidst the unsteady passage of time.

Everyone is bickering over why the wraith would have abandoned this outpost when all the environmental factors are _perfect_ for their needs as a species. If he had a moment, John would point out that the wraith would probably find the movement of the suns as infuriating as they all do but he knows no one’s ready to listen. McKay and Zalenka will undoubtedly come to the same conclusion themselves in a few more days and in the meantime John’s feeling sick to his stomach and lethargic and he really just wants to find a quiet corner to hunker down in until this dumb-ass mission is over. 

Short Day comes to a close (they’re all getting a bit weird and they’ve started renaming the days to better mesh this planet’s cycle with their standard Atlantean 176 hour week so this is ‘Tuenesday’ which just makes John _really_ want a Tuna sandwich) and John feels like he’s coming down with the flu, like he’s ready to crawl right out of his skin. 

He’s moments away from asking their mission medic for some muscle relaxers and maybe a fucking ambien when he feels it. 

Low in his belly. 

A thickness. A cramping.

If he’s managed to conveniently forget everything else from the whole ‘turning into a bug’ incident he can’t help remembering this. This _feeling_. 

_Hide_ some hind-brain instinct hisses and John almost fights through it, almost shuffles up to Corporal Beggs to insist low and urgent that she needs to help get him back through the stargate _now_ so he can get home, get help, _get the damn things out_ -

But even as thoughts of Atlantis tempt him he gives up on the notion. Something like a fish hook seems to latch onto his willpower and _tug_ , pulling him to his feet and silently lead him away from the loose collection of still bickering nerds and soldiers finishing the last of their dinner around a couple of dinky camp lanterns. 

Miraculously, no one notices him leave. 

He’s been spending a fair amount of time during the mission exploring the abandoned wraith compound solo while the geeks do their thing. It’s a twisty mess of organic and metal components much like a hive ship, but most of the organic bits seem to have died over the decades - maybe even centuries - since this place was last occupied. Apparently these living parts of wraith tech should be more-or less self-sustaining once established - hence the fascination with this place. There’s hope they might find some poison or toxin or pathogen in the environment around here which will kill off wraith tech naturally. 

The idea definitely has merit.

But right now John doesn’t _like_ it in a way that’s annoying as hell. Destroying all this technology just doesn’t sit right with him. 

He tries not to think about it.

Another wave of _sick, dizzy, hot, hide hide hide_ nearly bowls him over and he stumbles into a wall, pausing to catch his breath. His vision blurs for a moment before straightening itself back out. If he was fully in his right mind he might notice that the things he sees before him are a bit bluer, a bit sharper, a bit more defined than they would usually appear, but he doesn’t have the capacity to recognize the significance of such a thing right now. 

He needs to go, he needs to hide, he _needs_.

There was this small chamber he’d discovered late on their first day here.

The organic material there had still been alive, _thriving_ even. The floor had been sunken slightly compared to the level of the adjacent hall, a short ramp disappearing into a shallow, milky, blue-grey pool. The smell had been very wraith-y, very damp, very metallic, mossy, dark. 

Logically speaking it was gross and slimy and dank. Instinctually speaking... 

He hadn’t shared it’s presence with anyone else yet for Reasons. 

Now he supposes it’s Bug reasons. 

Fuck, he really just wants to go there _now_. 

He groans and pushes away from the wall after another stomach cramp has passed, his boots too loud to his own ears as he stumbles along for another fifteen minutes, navigating the weird, dark, wending halls without once checking his bearings, nostrils flaring as the scent grows stronger-

It’s a relief when he slips through a narrow break in the wall and sees his target glowing softly with a bioluminescent light at the end of a short corridor. He fumbles his way towards it.

An hour later and he’s stripped from the waist down, his pants and underwear, boots and socks left haphazardly at the threshold. 

He’s shed his jacket and his side arm too, but before he was able to get his black undershirt off the worst cramp yet had seized his belly and he’d been unable to stop the hiss that left him. His legs ended up carrying him into the pool independent of rational thought, and brought him to his knees. The liquid around him just reached his hip bones. It almost seemed to glow a brighter as John shut his eyes, leaned forward to brace himself against the soft, leathery walls and he started to _push_.

An hour and he’s only managed to dislodge a handful of them. 

He’s not sure when he’ll be finished this time, not sure how long it took last time, not sure if there are more or if they’re bigger or if there’s something wrong because he doesn’t remember it _hurting_ quite like this. 

He tries to be quiet, doesn’t want to make a sound, but he finds himself still whimpering and moaning very softly every few minutes before he remembers to bite down on his bruised lips, trapping the vulnerable noises inside. 

Time moves weird and syrupy slow. 

Another of the _things_ is passing through him now. They’re hard to feel when they’re at the beginning of their journey, his body doing its work without his conscious input to maneuver the oblong ovoids into position, but when they’re about to breach he feels them _a lot_ , large and insistent and they’re not quite as big around as a chicken egg - he _remembers_ \- but they are almost _too much_ -

With eyes squeezed shut and teeth digging into this bottom lip he bears down on the latest arrival. 

The relief he feels when it burns its way past its widest diameter and then slips the last of itself out of him with slick ease is profound. 

He opens his mouth up in a silent cry, unhappy with the way his cock twitches, the tingling shudders that race along his nerves as the dark-gray fluid which accompanies this process moves out of him to join the… the _eggs_. 

For a few moments, after every egg he passes,the liquid he’s kneeling in flows inside to fill him where he’s hollow and aching. It settles into him until the next round of contractions starts up and his body well tense and draw itself shut until the next delivery is made. 

The liquid is cool against his burning insides, slippery, easing some of the discomfort and he sniffs hard, blinking back tears as he rests his forehead against the forearm he has braced on the wall. With his free hand he reaches down to the wet hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up so he can get his palm on his belly, feeling the muscles there twitch and flex as they respond to an unnatural biological command.

That’s five. There were twelve the first time. He doesn’t think he has that many left to go this round. Just one more maybe. Two perhaps. 

In the end there are eight eggs strung together by the congealing gray goo that came from him. They stick together in an irregular cluster, floating to the surface of the pool, bobbing serenely in the ripples that John himself puts out as he shuffles tiredly around so he’s sitting propped up with his knees poking out of the water, legs spread, arms draped weakly over his thighs, his head tilted back against the room’s soft walls. 

They _are_ bigger this time. Not by much but definitely bigger. 

John has no idea what that means. 

His entrance is sloppy-loose from labor, his contractions done and his muscles too tired to close back up immediately. The fluid in the pool has pushed inside him almost like it has conscious will and it continues to feel soothing to his bruised and battered tissues. 

He sees no hint of pink or red mixed in with all the pearly blue-grey-white around him. This, he supposes, is a good sign. 

Although perhaps he should get his pocket knife and check to see if he still bleeds red at all. Maybe it’s just blue bug blood in there now. Maybe the mutations never stopped, maybe-

He looks down at his arms, sickly pale in the greenish glow of the chamber but still definitely a familiar pink-tan with dark black hairs and the occasional mole and he stops those thoughts in their tracks. 

He’s fine. This is fine. This is just his life now: The Adventures of John Sheppard: Pegasus Edition. 

In a minute he’ll get up and get rid of them. He doubts that they’re, uh, _viable_ but it doesn’t sit right with him to just leave them laying around intact and waiting to be found. 

It oddly enough doesn’t bother him to think about destroying them. His foreign instincts don’t seem to care. Perhaps on a primal level he’s aware that they’re empty and, err, un-fertilized. Perhaps the bug bits of him just don’t have any interest in caring for… for whatever might come out. 

Fortunately John is good at compartmentalizing. He firmly kicks the door shut in his mind which holds his ~imagination~, not wanting to visualize what weird bitty baby bug-johns might want to pop out of these things should they incubate long enough. 

He just wants to get back to the rest of the team and lay low until they can get off this gross little rock. He’s hungry and sore and he feels as beat up as he does after going toe to toe with Ronon. 

Just a little longer sitting in this pool though. Just a bit longer.

Eventually he stands, legs shaky but willing to hold him. He leans against the wall for a while, letting the… fluid still inside him run down his legs until he feels properly empty though still slippery and loose. 

He vaguely has to piss. For a wild moment he thinks he’ll just go right here, just to spite the damn alien bullshit that’s doing this to him, but in the end he resists. The action feels weirdly inappropriate in the quiet, humid, closeness of this little room.

Ultimately he strips off his t-shirt and wipes himself off down to his knees as best he can, then he scoops the _collection_ up and bundles the ruined shirt around it. 

When he manages to redress - jacket zipped up to his throat to hide the fact that he is now sans-shirt - He starts the uncomfortable, slightly bow-legged trip back out of the complex and into the long night. 

He doesn’t have to stop and gather his bearings during the journey, not once. He doesn’t really like what that implies but he just can’t think about it right now. There’s a job to do. But even after he gets outside, gets the t-shirt wrapped bundle propped up with a little log-cabin of dry wood, gets his lighter open, gets the fire going, gets the damn things burning, he’s unwilling to reflect on the _why_ or the _how_ of his situation. 

He just stares at the crackling, popping flames and keeps himself calm. 

The doctors in Atlantis could probably help him with this. Probably. They’d definitely want to know about it. 

But he does not want to tell them. It’s probably because he’s embarrassed. Probably. Probably not anything else lurking in his not-quite human brain. At least not anything dangerous. 

He can deal with this. He’ll be fine. 

He pokes at the fire with a stick, the fabric burnt to white ash and the _rest of it_ crumbling into embers when they’re jabbed. 

His work here is done. 

Nothing but bare stone sits around the fire so he doesn’t bother to stamp out the last of the flames before he gets up and starts to trek back towards camp. It will take care of itself. It’ll be fine. 

It’s the Long Night but that doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. He doesn’t want to be missed by the rest of the team. He doesn’t want anyone to come looking for him. He wants to get a new shirt, his jacket chafing painfully at his nipples. He wants to close his eyes and get some rest. He still wants a tuna fish sandwich.

By morning he’s had maybe an hour’s fitful sleep and when he emerges from his tent no less than three people immediately tell him he looks like shit as they sit down to breakfast. 

He smells like shit, too which Ronon points out. The Satedan has his nose wrinkled, his brow furrowed as he tries to figure out just what John’s delicate sillage is reminding him of. 

John beats him to it with a shrug. 

“Slipped in some wraith, ah, _goo_ yesterday while I was in the compound. Tried to wipe myself off but it got on my pants, my boots, uh, might’ve gotten on my jacket too.” He dips his head to take a whiff of his collar but that material at least just smells like sweaty cotton.

Rodney turns a bit green and John really hopes he doesn’t hurl-

“Thank you so much for that little ‘Good Morning Pegasus’ feature. Really delightful. Wonderful way to start the day.” He bitches and John relaxes, feeling comfortable in the lie.

Teyla’s expression is much more sympathetic. She reaches out to pat his arm, unbothered by his apparent odor. “I’m sorry John. You could bathe, if you wish? The shore is just a short walk through the woods that way. The water is a bit… what is the word, caustic? But nothing terrible. Yesterday I went to rinse off my arms and hands after returning from my own explorations of the complex. It is a very… slippery place.”

Rodney defeatedly slams the rest of his power bar into his mouth and chews like a man resigned to the gallows, shuddering theatrically before getting up to go bother Lieutenant Shaw who is serving as quartermaster on this trip, trying to bully her for a hazmat suit.

Ronon just slaps John on the shoulder as he himself goes to rise and follow Rodney, and drag him away from the harassed Lieutenant. “I’ve got two jugs of filtered water in my tent, you can wash up with one of those if you want.”

John’s grateful for the second option as he doesn’t want to think about what even a mild acid would do to certain, currently _tender_ , parts of his anatomy. He makes a face but nods his thanks to his two companions before going to take Ronon up on his offer. 

In the end they decide they’re not sure what the wraith compound is for or why it sits abandoned. The eclipse is cool, John can admit reluctantly, and when they get back to Atlantis he feels nearly well enough to forget the whole thing even happened. 

———-

The third, fourth and fifth times come like clockwork one year after the other and even with the hefty state of denial John’s living in he knows he’s gotta look at this thing as a _cycle_ which is a word he’s definitely not jazzed about but at least it’s predictable. 

He’s getting a handle on it, really. 

He makes a point to always be ‘home’ when _the time_ comes around. He’s not entirely sure this is the best call what with more or less anyone able to come find him at any moment, but at least it allows him to scout out his territory and make some plans. 

He’s managed to stake out this nice little alcove deep in one of the abandoned parts of the city. It’s not clear what such a small room might have once been used for but it’s pleasant enough, less claustrophobic thin his first, ah, _nest_ and definitely less… weird than the second. It has a large window that opens to the ocean and lets in the smell of the water, and, as far as he can tell, no one other than him has visited since year one of the expedition. It was marked as having no points of interest during an initial survey and subsequently left alone, just waiting for John to claim it as his own.

So he has. It was a pretty simple endeavor to kit it out with some gray army blankets and a couple Athosian pillows. He keeps spare clothes, towels, some bottled water and power bars ready to go and has even left a few books in the room just in case A) someone does find his hide-y hole and wonder what the hell it's for. Plausible deniability let’s John claim it as a reading nook. Then there’s B) sometimes it just takes a while to get all the damn eggs out and John gets bored. 

His process now is to take a week of leave around _the event_ and he spends most of it alone in his quarters so he can just sleep and eat and scowl at the ceiling. When the day does come he does his best to relax and just sit through the first few rounds of contractions since he’s learned it will take some time to work up to the Main Event. When the party is raring to go he makes his way to his alcove, does the deed, destroys the evidence, and sleeps for 48 hours afterwards. Bing bang boom, done and done.

The whole thing is becoming rather mundane, to his relief.

So by the sixth time it happens he feels like he’s got his process on lock. 

His leave was approved a month ago and while there was a hell of a lot of shit to wrap up today it’s all done and he’s _free_. He lets the door to his quarters slide shut with a cathartic thump and he tosses the small stack of paperwork he’s in no rush to complete onto his desk.

The opportunity to hole up on his own for a while is blissful. Not even the team questions him anymore about this week long retreat he goes on every year. It’s just something Colonel Sheppard does and folks leave it at that.

With a great sigh John flops face first onto his bed, taking a moment to detach his ear piece and fling it at the nightstand before he focuses with all his might on relaxing every muscle in his body. 

He usually likes to give himself two or three days lead up and he was only able to finagle one this time around but that will be fine. If he really concentrates on mellowing out he’s sure he’ll be relaxed enough when the time comes. 

Things go a lot smoother if he’s relaxed. 

He breathes deep through his nose. It’s kind of a struggle to pull in the oxygen with the resistance of his pillow in his face but he’s too tired to shift his head to the side and make it easier. Being finally horizontal seems to serve as a massive green light for his body to enter Relaxation Mode and he starts to feel drowsy almost immediately. Lazily he contemplates the benefits of an afternoon nap.

There were just a lot of loose ends to tie off today.

Rodney needed his Ancient Genes to play around with some tech. Ronon had wanted to spar before he went on leave (evaded that one, no thank you). Teyla had wanted to float some requests from the Athosians past him. He had been required to read through and sign off on more than a dozen requisition forms for different gate teams and It had been absolutely _insisted upon_ that he have all of his delinquent mission reports turned in before he took his time off. He got most of them done. Oh, and Todd’s around for the next few days. Which, well, that’s not great considering the guy likes to work with the rest of Atlantis _through_ John and that’s not gonna be an awesome idea right now what with uh, John’s _current circumstances_ , but the wraith’ll be fine for a few days without him. It’ll be fine.

John’s set up the wraith’s schedule for the week so the alien pretty much only has to interface with McKay. The two nerds can verbally and intellectually eviscerate each other just fine without him and it should keepTodd plenty busy. 

A gurgling grumble bubbles through John’s guts. With a wince he wiggles his hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure which makes itself known in his belly.

He’s felt queasy for a significantly longer lead time than he’s used to. It’s not a development he’s keen on. 

Everything else has felt pretty much the same as it has before, though. He’s done the regular oscillation between lethargy and anxiety as bug-hormones do their thing. He’s gotten waspish and sour with anyone who so much as looks at him sideways. He’s eaten twice as much protein as he would regularly consume.

Something though, something just feels a bit off this time. Even the most mundane, innocuous things have been picking at his ire the last two days. More than once he’s felt like a teenager again, wanting to disappear for good, run away and never come back. 

When they’d gotten word that Todd would be dropping by for a visit John had felt physically ill. Just imaging Todd’s constant barrage of little smirking smiles and quirked eyebrows and elegant barbs had been enough to make him want to explode in an irrational, nervous fury. 

Nah, the alien is far too much for him to handle right now. The first hint of snark andJohn knows feels he’d just go off on the guy and end up ruining the tenuous goodwill they’ve cultivated between them and that… that wouldn’t be great. 

It’s good to stay away from him. He and McKay are more than enough company for each other. 

And if the wraith has been spending the last couple days staring after him, perplexed and contemplative at the cold reception from his closest Atlantean… not friend but ally at least, then John has Not Noticed.

The muscles in his belly ripple again, and it feels this time like the phantom of contraction, a ghost of a pain he knows will intensify soon. He worms a hand under his stomach, flexing his fingers to massage the ache, sighing heavily into his now breath-damp pillow as he weighs the merits of a fitful sleep against taking a relaxing shower. 

Shower wins in the end but it's a close thing and John groans as he rolls onto his back and girds himself for the effort it will take to get up and go the the washroom. 

While he’s staring at the ceiling, almost too drowsy to follow through on his plan, he suddenly hears someone outside his door, softly toying with the control pad which would allow him entry. 

John locked the thing with a thought as soon as he’d gotten back to his quarters so he’s not overly worried, except who in the hell-

The door opens with quiet whoosh. 

Speak of the devil.

Tall blue and tattooed strides right into the room like he owns the place, the door once again sliding shut behind him. 

Well. Fuck. 

“Uh, get out?” John goads, pouring as much affronted disbelief into his tone as he can muster, trying to look authoritative even though he’s still lying flat on his back on his bed with his head cocked at a weird angle to keep an eye on his unwelcome visitor. 

Todd makes that little huffing sound which means he thinks John is being stupid and he takes a couple steps further into the room, all his goth-y black leather creaking intimidatingly with his approach. John sits up sharply, fighting down a wince at the way the muscles in his stomach complain at the movement. 

“You have been avoiding me, John Sheppard.” The rough timbre of Todd’s voice still sends a tingle up John’s spine even after all their encounters and he frowns, feeling cornered and nervous and irritated.

“Not my problem”. He snaps. 

Todd pauses, his head canting minutely to the side. “You do not seem well.”

“Not _your_ problem.”

Todd looks frustrated and usually John would feel a surge of triumph at putting the proud alien off balance, but he doesn’t have the capacity right now. John’spretty much just a bundle of basic animal needs at the moment and none of them are currently being met. He’s hungry, he’s tired, he doesn’t feel safe, he’s hurting, he wants a shower, he wants to be alone. 

Todd’s not fixing any of these things by being here right now. Not to mention he’s being very rude for not sticking to the planned Irritate Rodney fest that he had organized for him. John would like him to _leave_. Now.

“I-“ John opens his mouth to start telling the nosy bastard off when, out of the blue, he’s slammed with a _massive_ contraction. 

Usually these things build up slowly. The cramping and tensing in his body will build up from a mild ache to a commanding need to push that John is helpless to obey. 

But the first contraction this time just comes on _strong_ , attacking him with the sort of intensity he usually expects at the end of the game and not the beginning. There’s nothing he can do to stop the reflexive gasp of pain that gusts out of him, his eyes going wide and watery as he wraps a hand around his abdomen and bends forward over his knees, his free hand clenching tight to the corner of the mattress, fingers aching as they seek grounding.

“Sheppard.” The tone of Todd’s voice would seem unremarkable to most folks but John’s gotten to know this guy well enough to realize he’s _alarmed_ and isn’t that just the sweetest, the life sucker is worried about him. He wants to say something prickly and vicious but a second contraction rides up hard on the heels of the first and he dissolves into panting and hissing, just barely containing an unhappy whine as he keeps his head down, not looking at the intruder. All he can do is concentrate on staying calm, he’s got this, he’s got this-

“You are unwell. You must see your Doctor Keller-“

“No.” John snaps raspily, voice filled with conviction. His head is tilted towards the floor and all he can see of Todd is his feet. Those sharp, dark boots slowly turn back towards him and away from the nightstand containing John’s abandoned earpiece. 

“Then you must tell me what ails you.”

“No.” He repeats, hoping that Todd can tell just how much he means it. “Go away. I’ll be fine.” The words grind their way past John’s clenched teeth. He means it, he really, really means it. He wants to be _alone_. He wants to be in his room - _not this room,_ the one that smells like the ocean, the one that no one can find him in.

He lurches to his feet without really meaning to. The need to find shelter, to hide, is building up in him the way it always does but it’s just coming on _so much quicker_ -

“Gotta go.” He croaks lamely, trying to stumble past Todd, beyond caring if the ass hole stays in his rooms or goes sulking back to his hives or declares war on Atlantis because John’s got other shit on his mind. 

A black leather clad arm shoots out to catch him, joining John’s own arm still wrapped around his abdomen and the human shouts at the jarring impact. His knees buckle and he sags into the outstretched limb. Thank fuck that wraith are strong otherwise he’d be on the floor right now and he does not want to think about what would happen if he fell that hard.

 _’Scrambled eggs.’_. His brain supplies, hilariously, and John worries for a moment that he might be sick. 

“Colonel Sheppard.” Todd tries again, tries to draw John’s his focus back to the moment and John shudders, straightening his legs out so he can hold himself upright and he can shove Todd’s arm away because fuck that felt _bad_.

John tries to get around him once more. This time Todd lets him but he ends up right at John’s elbow, hovering behind him while the human claws for the door. 

There’s a distinct huff at his ear, a rough intake of breath. “Your scent has changed.” 

The alien speaks lowly, cautiously. John can feel the cool damp of his breath, he can feel the determined strength of him like a pillar at his back.

The observation draws John’s hands to a sudden halt, his own breath catching in his lungs as he stares blankly at the door. Swallowing, unsure, he slowly turns his head to look at Todd over his shoulder, angry at this invasion of privacy, filled with a sick sort of dread.

Their eyes meet. Todd’s slit pupils have dilated to a soft oval, his lips shut over his sharp teeth in a sign that he means no harm. His stupid wavy white hair looks soft, his skin would be blissfully cool if John were just to reach out and touch-

But John has to get out of here. 

A third contraction hits and John’s knees give up again, his shoulder slamming against the door as he pants open mouthed, unaware at first that the wraith has put his hands on John’s hips to keep him upright as he breathes through the pain. 

John blinks rapidly to try and clear the tears in his eyes and his vision does that flip that it always does when he’s in the throes of this _thing_. For a moment everything is blurry, then things become sharper, bluer, more intense. 

Todd’s eyes for example. His stupid, golden snake eyes - wide open in surprise -look like they’re _glowing_. 

“John Sheppard. You are-“

“Don’t say it.” John gasps. “Do not say it. Just, fuck-“ he flinches as a smaller cramp hits him but at least this one fades quickly, leaving him just dazed and tense and trembling. 

Todd breaks eye contact first, flipping his gaze about Sheppard’s small quarters almost agitatedly, seeking something, some sign, some clue, and John doesn’t know what he wants until the alien looks back to him, brow furrowed in something that might be confusion. 

“Where do you go?” 

A simple question, but there’s a lot in there and John frankly isn’t sure he’s ready for this. 

He wants to be let out from under Todd’s scrutiny. He wants to be _alone_.

But things are different this time. They _feel_ different. There are bits and pieces to John’s body now that he doesn’t really understand and things feel like they might get _really bad_ this time around and Todd _is_ maybe the closest thing to an expert he’s got and maybe if the taller male was _asking_ to help John might just be pathetic enough to concede-

His body aches, his muscles already sore and hot and swollen and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Not for the first time he remembers the way the pool on M5J-421 had been cool and soothing and gentle to abused flesh and he _wants that_.

He doesn’t have that. But somewhere out there he does have his little room and the smell of the ocean and now he unexpectedly has Todd looking at him with something akin to concern and he’ll get through this. He will. 

Todd’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His nose seems to twitch, nostrils flaring, breathing deep some chemical tell John’s body is pumping out without his consent and _fuck_ -

“Allow me to aid you in your time, Sheppard.” He hisses after a moment of quiet. “I would… It would be an honor.”

John groans and shuts his eyes so he can have a second of peace before he makes what is surely the stupidest decision of his life. 

He opens his eyes again with a resigned sigh. “I need to get to the south spire, the shorter one, at the edge of the city. 8th floor.”

Todd doesn’t have to be told twice. He man handles John from his slumped position to one upright, drawing the soldier’s arm over his shoulders while he wraps his own arm around John’s lower back, doing damn near all of the work to keep him standing. 

.. and then they stop moving. 

After a moment of just standing in silence John clenches the hand over his abdomen into a fist, grabbing his t-shirt in agitation. He looks up at Todd feeling a touch desperate as the alien just keeps his eyes trained on the door, his head slightly tilted as if listening for something John can’t hear

The next pain hits and _fuck_ this shit gets old real quick. John’s strength leaves him and he sags against Todd, biting his lips almost to blood to keep from crying out. 

“When this pain passes we will move.” Todd tells him, voice low. John glances up, processing through muddle of his thoughts that Todd’s waiting for their best chance to make it out undetected-

When the wraith opens the door John just let’s the alien tow him along, too stressed and too tired to fight or interrogate, just doing his best to walk sort-of normally when all his guts feel like they want to explode out of him like a certain sci-fi movie. 

By some wild stroke of luck they make it unmolested past the implicit boundary of where human occupied Atlantis ends and the wilds of everything else begins. As soon as they round the corner that will take them off the wide, main thoroughfare and step into a narrower, less conspicuous corridor leading towards tower S3C Todd pauses just long enough to shift Sheppard and get his arms around him so he can lift him into a bridal carry that John is _not_ on board with thanks very much.

“Hey!” He snaps, trying to struggle immediately but Todd has already set off at something just shy of a jog. All at once they are covering ground three times faster than John’s unsteady gait had allowed, Todd’s stupid coat billowing behind them dramatically.

“The transporters are out of the question if we do not wish to be detected and if we walk with you in your condition it will take us so long to reach our destination we may as well just stop here and remain in this corridor until you have delivered.”

John swallows a retort when he hears Todd deliver he’s assessment with his rough cadence, his commentary on the _situation_ so frank it sends a flush of mortification rising to his cheeks.

“Let me help you, John.” He says softer, breathing still steady and easy even while his body is hustling them towards John’s hide away.

The colonel’s ire fizzles out and he sighs. He lets his head fall to Todd’s shoulder, preparing for the next contraction to strike any second. 

“Fine.” He hisses through clenched teeth as he waits for the pain. 

Todd will get them there. 

———

Time gets kind of weird for him when he’s… doing this thing he does. It can feel like hours of work pushing out a single egg when in reality it’s only minutes, but when he floats in a daze in between deliveries time moves so fast it’s like it has no meaning at all. 

Somehow Todd finds his room, as small and as out of the way as it is. John figures it’s probably smell that guides him - he cleans up after each visit but it’s not like he’s carting a mop and bucket and a gallon of Lysol up here every time. 

He comes back to the present as he’s being lowered onto his stack of blankets. He swallows as he’s settled amongst his things, gathers his bearings, glances over at the closed window. 

“Open it.” He orders, not really meaning to be so brusque but he wants it open _now_ and he doubts he’ll be able to stand long enough to manage it himself. 

Todd doesn’t complain as he rises to go fiddle with the Ancient panel and with a few taps of his dark-nailed finger the shield that serves as barrier between them and the outside world falls away in a flash. 

A breeze immediately gusts in to greet them and John almost chokes on his relief. Outside the sun is setting, the shadows growing long, and the sea offers up a sweet, cool wind that smells of salt and water and security. 

He is safe here.

Even with Todd.

Which is a dumb thought but there it is.

He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, waiting for another contraction and trying not to think about what the fuck he’s supposed to do now that _Todd is here_ and apparently going to stay through this whole mortifying situation and Oh Fuck Why the Hell Did he Let Todd Come Along-

“Your clothing must be removed, John.”

“Nope.” John rasps, still with it enough to obnoxiously pop the p.

Even though he knows Todd is right. 

“There is no need to fear me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, you damn vampire.” He grunts, his hands crossed over his stomach and clenching in his t-shirt as another wave hits. 

It starts high in his belly and rolls down through him towards his pelvis, the muscles quivering and clenching as they work to line up the _things_ inside him that need to come out, eager to stretch him to the edge of tolerance, eager to burn him, eager to fight him all the way out. 

This fucking sucks. 

His thighs ache with how hard he’s been tensing them, trying to keep his body under control, trying to abate the rising spill of dark slippery _something_ that wants to flow freely. 

For a moment Todd just places one hand over John’s - not his feeding hand, thank fuck - and he stays still, letting the labor of John’s breathing bring his hand up and down again, feeling John’s thundering heartbeat, the way his abdominals stiffen and grow hard with the force of the contraction. 

“I have been three times blessed in my life to assist a queen in lay. I will be able to help you.”

“I’m not a damn queen.” John hisses, but he drops his head against the pillows anyways and doesn’t fight Todd’s fingers as they slip away and head down his body to start untying his boot laces: tentative at first then moving with confidence when they are allowed to do their work. 

A part of John wants to protest more, but honestly Todd has seen him literally weeping in pain. He’s seen him aged to the brink of death, ragged and beaten and pathetic. What’s a little nudity on top of all that? 

Really John just wants relief. This hurts more than it ever has before. He just wants to feel better.

Todd is professional, efficient and tidy. John’s boots and socks are removed, the latter tucked into the former for safe keeping. His fly is undone and his trousers and boxer briefs pulled down with similar haste, folded and set aside with the boots. 

John doesn’t want to admit it but it _is_ a relief when he’s freed from his waist bands, giving his belly the room it needs to flex and expand with the demands of his eggs. 

When Todd starts to skim his hands up over John’s bare hip bones, cool fingers smooth and dry and feather light as they disappear under the hem of his t shirt, John notices a strange noise coming from his companion somewhere between a click and a rumble. 

“Are you _purring?_ ”

Todd doesn’t reply, his tattooed features weirdly soft, his head tilted slightly to the side in a look almost like wonder. He just keeps up the slow, tender movements of his hands, encouraging John to lift his arms and help him maneuver the shirt up and off of his body. 

His now entirely nude body.

The full scope of his own vulnerability crashes into John like a ton of bricks and he swallows hard when his head pops free of the garment. Todd turns away to compress the clothing into a neat little roll that he then balances on the toes of John’s boots, more than far enough away to avoid being sullied by all this. 

All the while he keeps the low almost-purr going. 

Another contraction and John forgets about being naked. He forgets about Todd’s stupid noise. 

“Fuck!” He barks, now that he can, no one properly around to hear, tossing his head into the pillows and arching his back, trying to push in tandem with the efforts of his body but nothing’s willing to move yet and he quickly gives up, sagging back down, panting hard, letting the rest of the pain wash through him. 

“Beautiful, John.” Todd croons softly, his cool hand - still not his feeding hand - settling lightly on the soldier’s sternum, rubbing in small circles, soothing the man as his chest rapidly rises and falls. His long, sharp nails get dangerously close to John’s nipple and he wants to snap out a warning but he doesn’t need to, the wraith’s touch retreats to a spot slightly lower on his body, still massaging gently. 

“I’m so glad you like the look of me in pain.” John grouses when he catches his breath again, one hand going up to card through his hair. His eyes flick to the ceiling where he watches the shadows cast by the artistic lintels above the window being elongated in the dying light. Atlantis will illuminate soon but the lights in here never come on unless John wills them and he likes it that way, blue and purple with night and just a hint of electric white picking its way through the window.

He watches them and counts his breaths, trying to relax. 

It’s easier if he’s relaxed. 

“I did not believe what my own senses were telling me.“ Todd murmurs after a minute of silence, his hand now stilled, resting at the top of John’s belly, just below his ribs. It’s not doing anything other than resting there but the alien’s touch is insanely apparent to John, the human skin under his pale fingertips sensitive, tingling- “I could smell your scent, but I did not know it was you. I could not comprehend. What would a queen so close to lay be doing here? If there was one here, as prisoner, why would she not call out to me for aid the moment I stepped through the gate?”

“I’m not a queen.” John reiterates, trying to stay calm, his body starting to shiver. He feels weird, weirder than usual. His diaphragm spasms under Todd’s palm, the muscles above his pelvis tense, and a slick rush of fluid suddenly escapes his body. Flinching, groaning he shudders when it releases some of the pressure on his abdomen. His stupid cock twitches at the twisted pleasure of relief. 

Todd’s purr comes back. When John let’s himself glance at the alien he sees Todd staring rapturously at his… well, his…

“You are blessed as one.” The alien compromises. He removes his hand from John’s belly and reaches down to place it instead high on John’s tensed thigh, resting softly for a moment before he digs with his thumb at the tendon which joins leg to groin, pushing on a pressure point with uncanny accuracy. A full body shudder seizes John as some of the tightness in his muscles gives out and more fluid gushes out of him.

“How many seasons?” Todd asks quietly when John’s quaking has subsided somewhat, his leg now largely relaxed under the alien’s touch. 

John doesn’t even think about lying. “This is six.” He mutters, too tired to obfuscate. Todd clicks out a noise of surprise. 

“All on your own?”

“I don’t see too many Wraith OBGYNs around here, do you?”

Todd surely doesn’t know the particular reference but he gets the general idea. The wraith commander leans forward over John’s face, his long, white hair sweeping off his shoulders to fall like a curtain, isolating the two of them from the rest of the world.

“My dearest Sheppard.” His voice is so low now John feels like he shouldn’t be able to hear it, shouldn’t be able to understand-

But it echoes in his head clearly, calmly, like a lay line to hold fast to, something stable to build upon. John lets out a pathetic little sound, almost a whimper, and when the next contraction hits he just lets it move him, his body twisting and shuddering his mouth opening in a moan, his legs spreading wide, his hole feeling cold and slick as he’s hit with a breeze from the open window. 

He turns his head against the pillows and feels the soft ends of Todd’s hair brushing over his cheek in a feathery caress before the wraith withdraws and shifts his attention towards John’s lower half.

This time he feels it, the first egg descending into position. His eyes snap open wide. 

He doesn’t bear down right away, he lets the contraction finish and then he tries to push himself upright with a groan, hand scrabbling for Todd’s arm for assistance and the larger male offers it freely. 

“Up.” John grunts, wanting to be on his knees, let gravity do some of the work. 

With a few moments of shuffling and groaning they manage to rearrange with Todd kneeling behind him, his long thighs spread wide to bracket John’s own, his hands now both in play, wrapped around John’s torso, holding him steady as John readies to push. 

“This stems from your time with the iratus?” Todd asks softly against John’s ear and the colonel nods slightly, doesn’t see a point in denying it. 

“Have any young come from your first six seasons?”

 _“No.”_ John snarls.

Todd remains unflappable. “How large a clutch have you laid?”

“..12. Then 8, 6, 8 again,” another cramp, a pause to gasp, “just 5 last year.”

“It’s alright Sheppard, you do well. You have surprised and impressed me yet again.”

John starts to form a witty retort about just how great he is and how Todd should know that by now but he just doesn’t actually want to. A warmth blossoms in his chest as he sits with Todd’s words, Todd’s strength, Todd’s hands now sliding down his body towards his cock which is twitching like it’s eager to get this show on the road, ready for the eggs to come and bring their terrible pleasure/pain with them. 

“No one has pleasured you in your time?” Todd murmurs against the back of John’s neck but it sings like a melody in his head and John shudders, unable to answer as the next contraction starts and he shifts his weight, leaning forward, his hands coming out to brace against the ground in front of him.

He’s panting, open mouthed, alarm growing as he feels the egg move through his laboring. 

Something _is_ wrong. 

It’s too big this time. Why is it so big?

“They’re bigger, fuck, why are they bigger.” He manages to gasp the question as the contraction breaks down, the egg low in him but not nearly out, his body trembling with the exertion of getting it as far as he has. 

“Your reproductive organs are maturing.” Todd explains gently, and John can’t even find it in himself to freak out when one of his taloned hands goes to touch carefully around John’s slippery opening, massaging through the slick against the flexing muscle before pressing into the softened passage, testing John’s limits, how far he has left to go. “You are nearing the point in your development where you could carry viable offspring.”

“Fuck!” John shouts, shock from the announcement, shock from the tap Todd gives to his prostate, his nerves singing and his cock jumping from tumescent to fully erect in a surge of arousal so intense it’s nearly pain. “Todd, stop, fuck, too much-“

“Easy, Sheppard, trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not wraith, I’m not a queen, I’m not as durable!”

“You are stronger than you know, and you will feel such incredible pleasure tonight. It is your right, as a giver of life, a layer of eggs, a proud brood mother. Your ecstasy will know no equal.”

“Damn it, Shakespeare -“ John feels his nervousness grow, he tries to argue, but the next wave hits and it’s all he can do to just work with it, bearing down on the foreign object inside him, laboring it into the world. 

Todd’s fingers remain in him, now rhythmically rubbing against his pleasure spot, making John’s cock spit pre-come in shameless dribbles and spurts. His muscles push harder than he thought they could, his whole body shaking as the egg comes forth. Todd’s cool hand retreats from him but the egg takes the place of his fingers, assaulting his nerves as he whimpers and pants in overwhelming pleasure, burning him as it begins to breach him, steadily pushing out and cleaving him wider and wider until with a shout and a sharp sting of relief it slips free. His testicles pull up and his cock jerks as he comes untouched, his seed spilling out in frantic bursts to join the dark grey stains already soaking into the blanket below him. His hips hump forward instinctually, chasing the raw pleasure, and Todd’s hand is cupped around his inner thigh, encouraging the movement, supporting him as he milks out the dregs of his orgasm.

“Well done.” Todd praises, purring again, clearly delighted and John cannot believe this is his life. His cheeks are flushed and his chest aches, his nipples are hard, his cock is still standing proud, his body is being hit with another contraction and he yells, head bowed, hands bracing against the blankets in fron of him, shuddering through an aftershock which is terribly _good_. His cock spits feebly once more, a new wave rolling through to start work on the next egg. 

He makes it through three like this. 

All the while Todd remains steadfast and proud at his back, keeping him supported as John progresses from kneeling to a squat, practically sitting on Todd’s lap, feeling the wraith’s own rigid cock press against the small of his back through the layers of leather he’s still wearing. 

All the while the wraith is praising him, whispering words like secrets against his ear, telling him about how they do this on their ships, how he would love to treat John right, have him reclining in one of their cool baths, enzymes and lipids and protocells acting as a soothing balm, healing him, calming him, cradling him as he pushes through each contraction, holding the eggs safe as he makes each delivery. 

He murmurs about how he would breed John if the man would consent to it, how he would cherish him, fill him night after night in a lavish bed, feed him sweet fruit and cold water, guard him and serve him and worship him. He would keep him as he would keep a queen, content and satisfied and trembling with pleasure.

In the lull after the third egg while his body gives him a much needed break - a moment to have a bottle of water pressed to his lips, a bland protein bar fed to him by hand - John mentions he thought the wraith were all clones of one another. He didn’t think the wraith… fucked like humans did. 

At his back Todd chuckles and puts the bottle to his mouth one more time, encouraging him to sip slowly until John turns his head away, rejecting any more. 

“The drones are clones. We need nothing special from them. They must be strong and ready to fight. They must obey orders. These traits can easily be cast from the same mold again and again.” Todd replaces the bottle’s cap and sets it aside. Then he returns his arms to their new found home around Sheppard, leaning back and pulling on the human’s chest until John gives in to gravity with a grunt and they are both reclining, Todd against the pillows and John against Todd.

“For our queens,” the wraith continues “we need variety, something unique, captivating. They require amphimixis, the humble donation of worthy seed to a willing matriarch. Few of her offspring will be born female, but we males born of such unions will find purpose in taking up positions of leadership within the hive. We serve our mothers, then our sisters, then the new queens we petition to join within our network of allied hives. We demonstrate our prowess and ability in hopes of being chosen to father strong young, and if we are truly fortunate, _a queen_.” Todd’s arms around him tighten and John swallows, his heart rate has slowed down from earlier but it’s thudding _hard_ against his ribs, beating right up against Todd’s feeding hand. 

“‘M not a queen.” He says finally, really wanting to make sure Todd understands this, and the wraith just huffs a laugh against his temple. The larger male shifts slightly and John closes his eyes at the sensation of other’s still clothed, still unsatisfied cock dragging over the sore, sensitive skin of his ass. 

“Of course not, Colonel John Sheppard of Earth. But you are unique, captivating, and you have the ability to bear young, _our young_...” trailing off into a purr John honestly doesn’t know if Todd means children between the two of them or just children of the wraith in general and makes a conscious decision to not ask because he is Not Interested. He is Not. 

“I set them on fire.” John announces after another beat of silence, feeling strangely lucid for a lull in a delivery. Usually he’s woozy and out of it but tonight while he’s floating high on endorphins and adrenaline and who knows whatever other bug-based chemicals are basting his brain, he still feels coherent. 

“Your eggs?” Todd clarifies. John nods cautiously, waiting for the alien’s reaction, surprised when he only feels Todd shrug slightly before pulling him back to lay more snugly on top of him. His fingers start to pet in gentle circles over John’s sweaty skin, seemingly just for the pleasure of touch.

“A crude but effective way to destroy what would otherwise be a wealth of genetic data that could easily be used against you.”

John blinks, distracted enough to almost completely ignore the twinge of a new contraction coming on. “Figured you’d be mad, what with all the poetry you’re making about queens and eggs and all that.”

“If you were to immolate a healthy egg containing a viable embryo I would be more than simply _mad_.” Todd’s voice takes on a dark note, but his hands remain gentle on John’s body so John doesn’t think he’s thrown himself too deep into danger yet. “But if you have not been bred to an adult male with strong seed in the last six years then none of your eggs have been fertilized. I am not concerned that any of your past clutches have contained young.”

There’s a surprising pang of relief that John feels at Todd’s declaration and he’s not sure how to process it. 

He doesn’t want any mutant babies. He really doesn’t. 

Humming softly, seemingly just to fill the silence, the wraith commander reaches to the side and runs a finger over the slippery shell of one of John’s already delivered eggs. At some point when John was distracted the trio was lovingly encircled by a few of the towels John has stashed up here. They are stuck together with their grey goo, their shells shiny and pale and perfectly smooth. Big around as his wrist at the widest, they seem weirdly elongated in John’s opinion. Alien looking.

“You are bearing eggs of a proper size now, Sheppard. You will be ready to conceive in your next cycle.”

“No.” John answers immediately, disturbed, but his fourth egg seems ready to get this show on the road and he’s abruptly occupied with a fresh contraction. His efforts to firmly decline Todd’s suggestions are put on hold in favor of a need to struggle up to his knees.

But this time Todd won’t let him, his hand pulling back to wrap itself around John’s torso once again. His stupidly powerful arms remain a snug snare around him, Todd’s booted feet moving to hook around the inside of John’s ankles to keep them spread wide. 

John snarls, the amiable mood going up in smoke as he pants with pain, pushing with the contraction and trying to fight Todd at the same time. He doesn’t even have the breath to shout at him, barely has the capacity to listen as the alien whispers against his ear. 

“Like this John. Just like this. I will help you.”

It’s not like John has much in him right now to properly fight off a determined wraith and his fury devolves into an unhappy whine, this new position feeling strange and less effective than his previous ones. 

“Relax into me, let us bring your last egg forth together peacefully, with pleasure. _Trust me_.”

And the damnedest thing is that John _does_.

With a pitiful moan John slumps back against Todd and pants through the last throes of the contraction. His eyes shut, his head tilts back onto Todd’s shoulder, his hands grip tight to Todd’s, their fingers intertwined, holding onto John. 

“It’s too big.” John rasps after a moment to catch his breath. “I need to get up, I can’t do this like this, this one is way too big-“

“You _can_.” The hissed encouragement at his ear sends tingles trickling down his spine and John’s cock jerks from half hard to full attention, the head and shaft still shiny wet with the remnants of his previous orgasms. Honestly his balls ache, he’s not sure he can go again, either with the egg or the, well-

“Tired.” John grunts, feeling Todd’s fingers tighten their grip on his own, feeling Todd’s messily bearded chin rub against the top of his head like an overgrown cat.

“Of course, you are laboring hard, and you do so _exquisitely_.”

“ _Todd_ -“ He whines, another contraction hitting and he cries, trying to spread his thighs wider even though Todd’s already made sure he’s spread open as much as possible. 

Fuck. Fuck this, fuck fuck fuck-

Todd’s hands are suddenly pulled from his grip and John grunts, feeling bereft. They don’t go far however, just shifting further down John’s body to rest on top of his abdomen which is taut and hard like a plank, fighting to move the last of his clutch along. 

“Please-“ John grits out, not even sure what he’s asking for. Relief maybe. 

He’s definitely not asking for Todd to begin pushing down on his abdomen, adding to the already intense pressure the contraction is placing on his system. 

With a cry that’s nothing short of a wail, John’s eyes fly open, his hands going to Todd’s wrists, weakly trying to pull the alien away from his messy, aching belly but the commander is unmovable. 

John can feel the egg descending further, lower and lower until suddenly it’s passing over the enflamed nerve endings that Todd has been petting and stroking and rubbing all night and John shouts as a flood of incredible pleasure crashes through his veins right alongside the pain. 

“Good-“. Todd croons against his ear, gentling his touch as the contraction breaks down, the last egg now firmly lodged right against the most sensitive place in John’s body, unwittingly massaging him in a way which is so good it’s _terrible_. Colonel John Sheppard feels burning hot and freezing cold at once, his body shaking, his nerves singing with a pleasure so overwhelming it feels impossible, his body riding this trembling, unbelievable knife’s edge of orgasm and he feels dizzy, lost, uncertain which way he might fall- 

“Breathe, Sheppard.” Todd purrs, the vibrations of the sound resonating through his body are their own little pleasure and John gasps, beginning to pant again with a choked off moan. Instinctually he flexes his hips to try and ease the continued pressure in his lower body and he feels a resulting punch of pleasure so intense his vision starts to go black at the edges. 

“Again.” The command eases into his mind like warm almond oil, smooth and sweet and tempting. As promised the next contraction begins and John immediately starts to push, little rhythmic cries of needy pleasure pain ripping their way past his vocal chords as the egg moves through him slowly, slowly-

A hand wraps around John’s angry red cock without warning and John practically screams, humping his hips forward without conscious intent, the egg inside him assaulting him where he’s swollen and hot and desperate, the hand on him striping his cock in firm and quick and generous strokes. 

The egg begins to breach and John pushes as hard as he can, wanting it out, wanting to come, wanting to be done-

He’s so slippery and wet from all the fluid his body produces, he feels it running down his inner thighs, painting his ass, puddling below him and ruining the blanket he’s on. He hears it squelch as the egg moves forward, nearing its widest point, obeying the command of John’s body to _get out_ -

The dam breaks all at once, tension snapping like a rubber band and the egg pops through the last muscles holding it back, rapidly sliding free and releasing the torturous pressure building up inside of John. 

Todd growls happily against the back of his neck, his feeding hand squeezing John’s cock sharply, jerking down hard and Colonel Shepard uses what little breath he has left to shout out his climax, his aching balls jerking hard, his cock spasming as it shoots what little he has left in his body, mostly just cloudy clear fluid dribbling in small spurts, the pleasure that much more intense as his empty testicles burn with the force of his coming. 

At his back Todd is purring again, even louder, his whole body buzzing with obvious delight and John is shaking, aftershocks thundering through him. With one hand Todd gathers up the last egg and places it with its fellows, with his other he keeps a gentle grip on John’s dick which keeps twitching and dribbling. John doesn’t know if he wants to pry those cool fingers off him or wrap his own hand around Todd’s to hold himself tighter. The pleasure in his nerves keeps echoing on and on until it finally fades out to silence. John shudders hard, his opening flexing unconsciously and he feels loose and achy and hot-

Now familiar with the touch John doesn’t even startle when Todd’s fingers slide slowly inward from where they’d rested against his thigh, slipping through the copious fluid painting John’s entrance. Three of them push into his overworked hole and meet next to no resistance other than a hiss from John and a pathetic little twitch of the human’s hips. 

“That was the last, John.” Todd rasps. “ A respectable clutch.”

“Great.” John chokes out, shuddering, afraid that Todd is going to start playing with him again but the fingers inside him stay still except for the occasional, gentlest of strokes angled away from his most erogenous spots. They seem to be just giving his body something to flex around, let his muscles tighten back up more gradually, and John is sharply grateful for the consideration. 

“This last egg would have lived, if you were bred properly. If I had come to you even a week sooner, it would have held life. Perhaps developing into a noble blade like yourself, perhaps a queen-“

John feels a bit pale and shudders at the thought. “Keep dreaming.”

Todd chuckles and John feels something disturbingly like a kiss pressed to the delicate skin just behind his ear, sharp teeth cushioned from his flesh by thin, waxy lips. 

“I shall.”

John doesn’t honestly know what to say to that. 

Todd stokes up his cock once, slow and firm, and John’s very human body shudders, his hips twisting at the excessive stimulation, his muscles aching from the movement. “Too much.”

At his ear Todd hums softly, his grip again going more loose and his hand stilling its motion but not removing itself from John’s body. 

With a pitiful groan of protest John feels the fingers inside him start to fuck slowly in out, moving easily in the remaining slick his body has offered up. Todd rotates his wrist and gently, unerringly bends his fingers and drags over the human’s pleasure spot. Even with John’s whines rising in tone the wraith begins to massage small circles around it, insistently goading John’s body to full arousal once again.

“Todd! Fuck, I can’t, I’m done-“

At John’s neck Todd presses a smile full of _teeth_.

“One more, my John. One more to close you back up. One more for me.”

And John doesn’t know if he has one more but _fuck_ maybe it’s worth trying. 

It’s much slower going compared to the helpless surges of pleasure which ran pell nell through John with the delivery of each egg. Todd plays him expertly, note by note, building up to John panting exhaustedly, body rolling through the tides of arousal, inching closer and closer to one last hurrah.

“If we were with my hive,” Todd starts to purr and John groans and cringes away, the raw, deep tones of his voice almost _too much_. “I would lay you out in a bath and help press your hips wide so you were open as possible, allowing the waters of the brooding pool to fill you and begin to heal where you have been strained-“

Oh, John _remembers_.

“I did that already.” John gasps, whining, curling forward over himself as much as he can, his hips spasming up in little abortive thrusts as he follows the gentle tugs of cool gray fingers on his cock, fucking into Todd’s hand, wanting what the larger male is offering him even if it feels like too much, even if it kills him. 

“On a - nghhhhh - uhh, on a planet, with an old wraith lab. Accidentally, ahhhh, accidentally ended up-“

Todd’s rhythm does not falter but John can feel the way he tenses, hear his breath quicken as he pictures it. 

“Oh sweet Sheppard, how did it feel?”

Todd rumbles like thunder, croons like a song.

“Fuck.” John growls, _wanting_ “Good, it felt so fucking good. Fuck, Todd, fuck, need to come.”

At his back the wraith starts once more to purr his own pleasure. The bigger body flexes, the alien’s large erection has thus far been steadfastly ignored. Now it’s humping against John’s lower back seemingly because the wraith _just can help it anymore._. “You can climax when you are ready. I will not leave you, I will be right here.”

“Fuck!” John shouts and he comes, cock twitching pathetically and giving up nothing at all, his nerves positively _burning_ with the dry orgasm, his heart feeling like it’s fluttering, and it’s too much, too much, too much-

A growl behind him, an absolutely _animalistic_ sound, and the cock still separated from his skin by layers of black leather twitches and pulses distinctively as the alien peaks. Todd’s body tenses, his forearms locking around John’s torso and keeping him close to his chest even with his fingers still occupied with John’s spasming hole and his exhausted cock. 

_”Beautiful.”_ he snarls and John has never heard anything crazier in his whole goddamn life.

————-

Later when Todd has found a working bit of plumbing for them and they’ve cleaned up a bit, John lounges against a wall in a room just a couple doors down. He’s got his black boxer briefs back on but other than that he’s just wrapped in a clean blanket, watching while the wraith arranges the towels, dirty blanket, and of course, _the eggs_ for a little bonfire on the balcony. 

John hawkish gaze tracks every little thing Todd does, not entirely trusting the alien to follow through and burn all the evidence. 

Sure enough while John observes Todd pulls a short knife from a boot sheath ( _’gonna have to remember he has that one,’_ John notes, absently) and brings it down on top of the last of John’s egg. El Gordo, as John has promptly nicknamed it in his head. 

“Hey.” He barks, confused and a little grossed out by the hollow, wet ‘thunk’ noise he can hear all the way from where he’s sitting. 

Todd, not unexpectedly, ignores him and keeps working at the top of the egg for a few more moments until he pops a roughly circular chunk of the shell free and palms it away. 

A few minutes later, when the fire is burning properly and Todd has fortunately made no further moves to claim souvenirs, the alien comes to join him, leaning back against the wall before sliding down to sit cross legged next to John. 

“Give it.” John orders, holding his hand out for the piece of the shell that the Wraith stole. 

The bastard just grins at him, sharp teeth and eyes shaded dark in the evening gloom, the glow to his irises long since faded as far as John can perceive. 

“No.”

“Todd-“

Shaking his head the wraith reaches up to push John’s hand down back towards his lap. Taking a moment to tug the human’s blanket back in place over the colonel’s shoulder where movement had dislodged it, Todd then produces the bit of shell like a magician pulling a coin from thin air and John doesn’t refrain from rolling his eyes. 

“I will not allow it to be used against you, I swear it. There would be little to be learned from the shell anyways, it is mostly minerals and lacks significant DNA.”

He raises the chip between his thumb and forefinger and turns it in front of John’s eyes. 

“It’s thick.” John observes before he can check himself, preferring to ignore his curiosity, but Todd chuckles and explains.

“The shells are very thick and hard upon laying and will thin as the life inside them grows and expands. By the day of emergence the shells will be leathery and pliable and translucent. The thick enzyme and protein solution which suspends the embryo will osmose moisture from its environment through the shell wall during incubation allowing the barrier to soften and stretch.”

“Huh.” John grunts intelligently. 

He’s never looked too closely at the things before, but the shell is actually a very pretty shade of grey and almost seems to have a pearly sheen to it, glinting softly as Todd moves it back and forth in his fingers. 

In another magic trick the wraith abruptly tucks the bit of shell away and John blinks himself back to focusing. 

“Why do you want it?”

“If empty eggs are delivered, it is a traditional gift to offer part of the shell to the queen’s primary attendant. The edges can be rounded and I will carry this fragment as a token. A treasure.”

This seems weird to John but he doesn’t really see the damage it can do so he just shrugs with a sigh and looks back towards the burning evidence of the night’s activities. 

“Just don’t clone me.” He warns, having a brief dissociative moment as he takes stock of how truly bizarre his life has become. His unlikely ally laughs warm and low, shifting a bit closer so they are pressed together shoulder and hip. 

“How many days pass between your cycles, John?” Todd asks softly when the fire has burned low to little more than smouldering ash. 

Some of the lights in Atlantis wink off on their own after a certain hour of the night so John knows it’s going on 2 AM as he watches the illuminated windows in the tower across the way blink out. 

“353, give or take a day or two.” He answers tiredly, his eyes half lidded, gazing past the plume of smoke, past the glittering spires, towards the dark waters of Lantea blending against a star speckled sky. “Do not make a habit of joining me.” He grumbles when he hears Todd take a breath to reply. 

The wraith’s mouth shuts but John absolutely does not feel confident he’s convinced the other male to stay out of this and he sighs, letting his eyes shut completely. 

_”Let me help you”_ Todd’s voice whispers through his memories and John wonders not for the first time if Todd is more psychic than he lets on. He cracks one eye open to take stock of his companion and startles to find the wraith’s reptilian gaze trained on his face. 

For once he doesn’t look hungry while he’s staring at John. 

He looks soft. 

Content. 

Which is weird. 

John’s belly flutters and he snaps his eye shut again. 

He does not want to make a habit of Todd being here for this. No sir. No way.

A cool, clawed hand makes its appearance on John’s shoulders, rubbing gently over the top of the blanket. The smaller man doesn’t fight the compulsion to relax, to let the muscles sag, to let the pace of his heart slow. 

“Rest John, you have worked hard and long tonight, your body needs to recover. I will wake you in a few hours so we can return to your quarters before dawn.”

And, well. That sounds like a pretty good plan actually. 

Aw, hell.

In a year he will be doing this whole egg thing for the seventh time, John thinks as he drifts into sleep, definitely not leaning his head against Todd’s chest, an alien arm definitely not wrapped around his shoulders, definitely not continuing to rub at the sore muscle firmly, tenderly, slowly. 

Who knows what will happen in a year’s time. It’s a long ways away. 

They’ll just have to wait and see.


End file.
